La Floraison
by shinyoten
Summary: Hannibal wants Will to blossom, but Will seems determined to stay forever in winter. That is, until he cannot stop thinking of Hannibal's hands, as they teach him, guide him, and weave the two of them together as one. A one-shot of cheap beer and harpsichord lessons, and one very frustrated Will Graham.


Will walks along the shoreline, feeling the stitches in his cheek, the pulling and tugging of flesh, that seem to go far beyond his mouth, as if they were holding each of his limbs together. With each movement, he remembers the hand that stitched up the wound, but it might as well have left it gaping. He tastes the blood each morning, the blood from their union of killing the Dragon, from the open wounds in his body, to the ones in his heart beneath the moonlight. The wound he shares with another, that will never fully reseal itself.

There he was sullied in red, glorious and righteous red, and Hannibal's arms were around him as water swallowed them, the taste of salt and blood…

"You are up early."

Will turns his head, acknowledging the voice. He's standing knee-deep in water now and has not even bothered to roll his pants up. Hannibal looks at him, his mouth forming into a thin line. He extends his hand.

"Come, I'll make breakfast. "

* * *

Two months of itinerant life, of healing and of hiding pass, yet they have not yet shared a mutual hunt since the Dragon. Hannibal bides his time, waiting for the flower to open itself up to him, yet Will remains cold, and compliant only in terms of survival. They pass quiet evenings together, in forests, in shacks, or on the sea, changing names and committing petty crimes. Will only asks for rivers, and fish is the only dinner he will provide. He leaves the rest of the details to Hannibal, only aiding wherever necessary to prevent them from getting caught. He does not need to mention why he has not run away. He knows that he cannot.

Hannibal is curious though, when Will takes a turn one evening to read aloud instead of listening to Hannibal drawl on.

 _Batter my heart, three-person'd God, for you_

 _As yet but knock, breathe, shine, and seek to mend;_

 _That I may rise and stand, o'erthrow me, and bend_

 _Your force to break, blow, burn, and make me new._

 _I, like an usurp'd town to another due,_

 _Labor to admit you, but oh, to no end;_

 _Reason, your viceroy in me, me should defend,_

 _But is captiv'd, and proves weak or untrue._

 _Yet dearly I love you, and would be lov'd fain,_

 _But am betroth'd unto your enemy;_

 _Divorce me, untie or break that knot again,_

 _Take me to you, imprison me, for I,_

 _Except you enthrall me, never shall be free,_

 _Nor ever chaste, except you ravish me._

"I didn't know you had a liking for the Metaphysical poets," Hannibal comments.

"I don't typically, but Donne's…energy, intrigues me. Anyway you don't have much else to read around here that isn't pretentious bullshit," Will replies.

"Is it only his energy? Are we not like God Will? » Hannibal breathes. « When we have so much capacity to create, to render the world anew."

"We also have much capacity to destroy."

"Yet we are drawn to that destruction. There is beauty in creation, in making something wholly new."

"Whatever you say Hannibal." Will leaves his glass of wine on the table and exits the room swiftly, not wanting to bother anymore with philosophical banter. Hannibal casts an annoyed glance at the discarded wine, but does not bother to follow after Will.

* * *

"Go out with me tonight," Hannibal insists, without introduction or wordplay.

"Why?" Will murmurs, as he helps clear the table. "I don't want to kill as you do; you make no distinction between victims."

Hannibal pauses, deliberating. "Is it the identity and background that you are concerned with? Is it your compassion for them?"

"Can you stop trying to play therapy with me Hannibal? You already know my answer."

Will goes to leave in his usual abrupt way, when Hannibal suddenly grips his arm. "Don't turn your back on me Will. How would you choose them then? We must come to some arrangement. Why do you insist on staying with me if all you'll do is admit defeat? I would see you victorious again, beautiful, and _awake_ as I did that night with the Dragon. You were finally born, yet now you retreat back into the earth."

"You know why. It isn't easy Hannibal. I only want to kill if it feels righteous damn it! I don't want to be like you…needing to… just… "He loses the words.

Hannibal's face softens. " But my dear Will, you do need it. I admire your compassion and I cannot force you to do anything, but don't you ache for that feeling that we had that night? Don't you ache for freedom, for awareness, for _release_?"

He draws close to Will, whose breath hitches in his throat. Will closes his eyes, looking stiff, looking pained. He can smell Hannibal's aftershave mixed with the aromas from cooking their lunch. He imagines the metallic smell of blood, clinging to him, to them both. A baptism.

" _Yes_."

When Will opens his eyes, his pupils are small and he is breathing heavily. He brushes Hannibal's hand away though and takes a step backwards. "I'll go, but I get to choose how he dies. Just don't get all preachy or weird about it afterward."

Hannibal smiles serenely. "Of course."

Hannibal wants to kill earlier at night, but Will wants to take his time with it. They follow the man to the bar. They watch as he smiles, as he gets wasted. They let him walk away, piss in an alley, and begin to stumble his way home. Will catches him from behind and strikes him. The man falls over, but wrestles with his assailant. Hannibal only watches.

Will gets him in a choke hold, wanting to crush his windpipe and feel the life drain from him with his bare hands. Hannibal thinks that Will is taking too long and being sloppy, but Will wants it that way, and he's only ashamed of it afterward.

The man flails and kicks against Will's grasp, too drunk to make a good fight of it. Hannibal does not like untidiness, the noise, or the lack of blood, but he knows Will needs the adrenaline rush, needs to recall who he is. Within minutes, the victim eventually stops flailing and ceases to move.

"He's only unconscious you know. You've gone and made a mess of it," Hannibal murmurs. "You should of snapped his neck. Finish him why don't you?" He hands him a knife.

Will glares at Hannibal. "I thought it'd be enough." He slits the man's throat, lets the blood rush all over the pavement. "This just makes more of a mess, now we'll have to run again."

Hannibal sighs and swiftly begins to take some of the victims precious organs before they are wasted. "We'll talk about how to improve your performance later. And how to make less of …this. Come now, let us go."

* * *

Hannibal guides Will in the kitchen, teaches him how to prepare meat, to store it, cut it, and how to make different dishes. His hands rest over Will's, grazing them, guiding them. Will burns dishes at first, makes meat stressed, and spoils meals, but Hannibal is patient. He knows that his Will shall blossom and each passing day together becomes more savory, more fulfilling. The kills become rarer, but they become cleaner. They have design.

Will however, won't stop wearing flannel or drinking cheap beer, and he won't shave every day. And he won't stop asking for a dog.

Will begins to dream of Hannibal's hands though, even when he fishes. He imagines Hannibal standing behind him, controlling the line, reeling it in, with his callused hands resting firmly over Will's. They're hands that destroy, but hands that also create, guide, and teach.

They've gone to South America, surrounded by thick heat and rain. Some places the weather is dry and rather cold, where it is winter when it should be summer. It feels like that always in Hannibal's company though. Suffocating; overheated one second and chilly the next.

Hannibal somehow obtains a harpsichord in one of their residents that they have been settling into. He decides to try to teach Will to play. His hands mimic the motions of a simple song over top Will's hands one evening. The touch is tender, but Will suddenly stills. Hannibal does not remove his hands, standing over him.

"Will?"

Will is trembling and grabs one of Hannibal's hands, clutching it to his breast. The latter is startled by the touch and wraps an arm around him, leaving a ghost of a kiss against his neck. "My dear Will." They rest like that for a moment, before Will panics and removes himself.

"Goodnight."

Hannibal watches him leave and Will knows better than to turn around or else he's afraid he'd change his mind.

He dreams of Hannibal's hands, holding his own, exploring his hair, killing with him, touching him, claiming him, and wrecking him. Will wakes up, sweaty and flustered, with a hell of a hard-on. He sits up frustrated, and tries to think of other thoughts, of grandmas and sagging breasts in order to make it go away.

"Will, are you awake?"

"Fuck."

Hannibal's voice is outside the door, as well as _the_ Hannibal himself, make Will's dick spring back to life. He does not respond in hopes that the man will go away. However, Hannibal can smell his sweat and hear his breathing.

"You alright? You were making noises in your sleep."

"I'm fine," Will grunts.

"Do you wish to talk about it Will?" Hannibal asks, opening the door and peeping his head in.

"God damn it," Will curses. "Hannibal I'm fine. I'll be up in a bit."

Hannibal simply stares at him with a solemn expression before sitting down on the bed next to him. He's fully dressed, in a suit already, and it's not even seven in the morning. Will squeezes his legs together and tries not to look distressed.

"You've been tense lately. I was thinking that it'd do you good, if you wanted to resume your therapy. Or to just talk about your dreams Will. Bottling things up doesn't do any good. Have I done something to upset you?"

Will curses the man's attentive nature and wonders if he is playing with him. "Dreams are just dreams. I don't need therapy, we're beyond that."

Hannibal's eyebrows rise and he sits there in his smug manner. "Oh? Then what are we not beyond dear Will?" His eyes travel and linger.

Will averts his gaze. "I need to shower. Do you mind leaving?"

Hannibal blinks, and hesitates before standing. "Of course." He leaves the room, shuts the door, and hears Will sigh. He waits to hear the shower turn on, but it doesn't, so he lingers outside of the door.

He knows Will is touching himself, even if he is trying to be quiet. Hannibal closes his eyes, holding back a groan before walking away.

* * *

Will avoids Hannibal for weeks. Hannibal resorts to buying popcorn and cheap beer. He even offers to go fishing with Will. The latter just asks if he is ill. Hannibal gives Will a dog one day, a shepherd mix that he buys in the village, and then Will decides to start spending time with his companion again.

That does not mean he stops dreaming of Hannibal's hands, however.

Hannibal asks to take a walk with Will. Of course the man wants to bring the dog. They begin to take morning walks every day.

One night, Will breaks open a case of beer, savoring it alone. Hannibal goes out on a kill, by himself, when Will decides to be churlish and uncooperative. The dog-lover can never get inebriated with Hannibal, because the man always wants him to savor wine, to take his time. Will does not give a damn this night, and drinks until he is practically pissing beer.

He's still awake, drinking at two in the morning when Hannibal returns. The man smells of some type of cleaner, likely to wipe away DNA from one of his crime scenes, but his clothes are not even askew. He takes one look at Will and frowns.

"Go to sleep Will. You've had quite enough I think."

Will leans forward, scowling. "Yes I have. Enough of it."

" I don't follow. We can talk about it later after you've slept off your spell."

Hannibal makes a motion to guide Will to bed, but the man resists. "You're a pain in the ass you know. Being all 'My dear Will.' Pain. You don't even know what it does to me."

Hannibal stills. "Will, I appreciate your honesty, but come on."

He offers his arm and they make it to Will's bedroom. The drunk man collapses on his bed and makes slow patting motions next to him. Hannibal obliges and sits there awkwardly.

"You can stay," Will breathes. "I won't tell."

Hannibal smiles. "I appreciate it."

He stays there until Will fall asleep. He dares not touch him though, exiting the room.

The next time Hannibal has a harpsichord lesson with Will, he hugs him from behind. Will does not run away. The next day when they have their morning stroll, Hannibal nudges Will, and the latter silently takes his hand. When they get back home, Hannibal presses him.

"Do you wish to talk about it?"

"No."

"Can I kiss you then?"

Will pauses as if he has not heard correctly. His face colors and he averts his gaze, feeling suddenly very childish. " I…I've never…"

Hannibal kisses him anyway to shut him up. He expects Will shall run away, but instead the man just stands there, opening his mouth to him, although he trembles. Hannibal wraps an arm around him to steady him, and sighs against his mouth.

"Will, my dearest, what you do to me."

They stare at each other, eye-to-eye for the first time in weeks, before Will rests his head against Hannibal's chest and they stand there in a silence.

* * *

They do not talk about the kiss or the kisses that come. Sometimes, Hannibal brings Will breakfast in bed, and sometimes Will lets Hannibal hold him. However, they do not consummate their union or endeavor to discuss it.

Hannibal does however, finally barge into Will's room one morning, knowing that he is about to have his usual morning routine of "jerk off and shower." Hannibal sits down on the bed and Will stares at him, clad in a sweaty-shirt and boxers. The latter gives him owl eyes, whereas Hannibal's expression is unreadable. He moves within an instant however, even as Will tries to turn away.

"I can't wait any longer, when I can smell your arousal Will. Do you really fear intimacy so much, when we've been through so much together? When we are already one?" Hannibal breathes, as he wraps his arms around him from behind in a tight embrace.

Will exhales heavily, his head reeling. "It's just all so new. You're a man. I don't know what you are to me completely. Hannibal I just know that I need you. Fuck, do I need you."

Hannibal growls, emboldened by Will's words. He bites the smaller man's ear, and begins to kiss his neck slowly. Will gasps, squirming.

"Hannibal, don't get carried away."

"I won't. I'll be gentle. Just trust me darling. Let me love you."

Hannibal's hands travel with an aching slowness, reaching underneath his shirt, touching Will's heated skin. The younger man is oversensitive, having not been touched in such a long while. He gasps as Hannibal plays with him, removing his shirt, caressing his belly, his nipples, his thighs. He strokes Will through his boxers, sensually at first, then suddenly wrenches the last bit of fabric away, leaving Will exposed.

"Fuck! Hannibal…"

The man strokes along his length, pumping him slowly before picking up the pace. Will's breathing becomes labored and he whispers Hannibal's name between curses and grunts. The older man replaces his hand with his mouth and Will cries out, bucking his hips.

"Yes my dear Will," Hannibal says, between blowing him, licking him, kissing him, and stroking him. He tortures Will until he comes, crying Hannibal's name.

There is an awkward silence afterward and Will runs away to the shower, leaving Hannibal with ruffled hair from where he'd pulled it, a stained waistcoat, and a painful hard-on.

* * *

It's weeks before Will opens up to him. He is afraid of being lost, consumed, unable to turn back. Hannibal does not destroy him though. Instead he gives, teaches, and worships. He kisses Will with undying adoration and makes love to him as if it is the last act he'll ever perform on earth. They hold each other afterward the first time, and Hannibal's embrace is fierce, and he has tears in his eyes.

"I am grateful, for this, for you. How I love you Will. "

"All I know is that I am meant to be here, with you. We are inseparable, one in the same," Will says quietly. "I tried to run away from it so long, but wherever I go, I feel you there with me. A shadow, a second self. As if you were my own very heart, pumping blood through my body, keeping me alive."

"Will," Hannibal breathes. "Just you being here with me, if far more than I could have ever dreamed. I spent many nights, dreaming, hoping, never expecting you to see me. To want me. To understand…yet here we are, and I am blessed. No matter what happens, I could die happy, just from this night, with the fact you are here by my side."

"Hush," Will replies playfully. "It's alright, we aren't alone now. I'm not going to leave now. I never could. We spent so long chasing after one another. I'm not going to do that anymore Hannibal. I'm here, and here I am going to stay."

He kisses Hannibal gently on the forehead, as if giving him a blessing. Hannibal drinks it in, gasping, as he weeps.

"Will… "


End file.
